


Outsiders

by a_nonny_moose



Category: Markiplier Egos, jacksepticeye egos - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 08:37:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14733621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: Bim and Anti form an unlikely friendship.





	1. Headcanon Dump

**So,** in my verse, the Egos are all some form of [tulpa](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tulpa). They’re created because of what we think they are, and their physical forms are based on magic.

Dark, for example, was made of shadows when he was first created. Pocket dimension or not, he could turn into smoke and vanish. Post-WKM, he’s more along the lines of a reanimated corpse, controlled by the shadows. 

The Googles, as another example, are made of metal, unlike the others, which is what causes the canon events of [Corroded](https://egoiplier-shenanigans.tumblr.com/post/168140065190/egotober-day-twenty-four-corroded).

Anti’s creation is based along technology and Sean’s biggest fears. You can say, here, that Anti is basically like a boggart. In Sean’s case, Anti is made of electricity, because that’s the medium he uses to communicate, and that’s what we see him as. He would be a little bit more human than a hologram, literally pixels in the shape of a human. BUT he also has internal organs, blood, etc, AND the ability to possess others. For now, ‘glitch’ is the most accurate term. 

(of course, all of that is only true until we get more Anti videos and lore, which might change our opinion of how he physically manifests.)

Bim’s powers center around emotion, and manipulating emotion. The Googles are the only ones that are canonically not vulnerable to this, because they’re designed to keep their emotions under control. Because of this specific protocol in robotics, they’re immune to Bim’s power.

Anti, being the glitch we all know and love, has historically _little_  control over his emotions. He goes on rants, circling around and around his room, screaming and laughing at the camera. If Bim wanted to play with that boy’s emotions, he would have Anti wrapped around his little finger. 


	2. Bonding

Anti rarely comes around to the office. 

There’s the issue of distance, of course, because getting from the UK to LA in one glitch is no joke. There’s also the fact that since Sean hasn’t decided what to do with their characters, yet, he and the other Septic figments are entirely dependent on the fanbase. They’re unstable, and Anti most of all. The Septic figments are barely on speaking terms, much less like a family than a group of men at gunpoint.

When Anti does come, though, it’s because the Googles enjoy having him around to run experiments, or Wilford wants to see about reprogramming some lights, or Dr. Iplier needs a jumpstart for a patient or two. The Host and Dark are, for once, alike in that they rarely tolerate Anti’s presence. Too unpredictable, and unless they’re fighting, the three of them are never in the same room. 

They never have Anti around just to talk, or a member of their family. He’s an outsider, and what’s worse, he knows it. 

What he doesn’t know is that he’s not alone.

* * *

“What’re you looking at?”

“I, uh—” Bim backed up, hands spread. He was a little jumpier than the others, especially under Anti’s glare. “I just wanted to say hi.”

Anti eyed him, teeth bared. “Hi, then,” he grudged, and went back to examining the edge of his knife.

Bim inched closer, watching Anti’s hands move. “What’s up?”

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Anti scooted away to the other end of the couch, hunching in on himself. “Annoy Wilfy, or something.”

Bim hesitated, as if he was reconsidering annoying one of the most likely people in the building to stb him through the gut. “But I annoy Will all the time. You’re hardly ever here, and—”

“I’m not here to be _friends_ ,” Anti muttered, flipping his knife over in his hand. It was less careless than Wilford’s butterfly knife, more deliberate. Bim’s eyes followed the flash of the blade. “I’m just waiting for the Googles to be done.”

“But—”

“I don’t need your pity, Trimmer.”

Bim stopped, a little taken aback. “It’s not pity.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Wilford’s kicked me out of the studio for the day,” Bim snapped, sudden, and purple sparks flew from his clenched fists. “I’m in the same boat, and I was _trying_ to be friends, but if you don’t want to, that’s _fine_.”

Anti glanced over, surprised, and there was a beat of silence. “Didn’t know you had magic, too.”

Bim, distracted, looked down at the magic singeing his suit. “Oh. Uh, yeah, since last week.”

“Huh.” Anti flipped his knife over again, lost in thought. “That happen a lot?”

“What?”

“Like—” Anti shook his head, eyeing the Googles’ door, “—you’ll get and lose random power, like that?”

“Kind of.” Bim spun his finger in a circle, a little whirlpool of purple in his hand. “I’m just lucky to have anything consistent, at this point.”

“I get that.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, Bim holding his breath, Anti introspective.

The door banged open, and a cloud of smoke billowed out. “Anti, get in here!” Google_G’s eyes were visible through the smoke, commanding, and Anti jumped to his feet.

“See you later, there, Trimmer,” he said, quick, and glitched away. Bim was left on the couch, wondering if he’d made a friend, and whether or not that was a good thing.

* * *

Anti visits less often around Halloween, when the fans make him more dangerous, but he’s back soon enough and ready to experiment more. The Googles only ever treat him as a test subject, barely worth their time, but interesting enough to experiment on. Wilford, most of them suspect, has always been incapable of seeing other people as anything but tools. Anti, in this case, is no different. Dr. Iplier prefers not to be around Anti, even when his ‘help’ is necessary. 

Bim knows the short end of the stick—Anti’s end of the stick—far too well. He waits up for Anti between midnight tests and brings him blankets where he kips on the couch, and always has a kind word. It’s the friendship of outsiders, and stronger than most.

* * *

“Why do you do this?”

Bim looked up from his mug of coffee, the early morning still blurring his eyes. “Do what?”

“Stick around.” Anti took a sip from his own mug—coffee didn’t do things the way to him that battery acid did, but Bim had made him this coffee, so he might as well drink it. 

Bim shrugged, grinning, teasing. “I don’t have anything better to do.”

“I mean it.” Anti slammed back the rest of the coffee, bitter. “I could come loose any second, Trimmer. I could kill you right here.”

“So could Wilford,” Bim said, barely looking up. “So could a determined duck.”

Anti shook his head, laughing. His laugh was nice, Bim thought. Not the high-pitched giggle from videos, but a low chuckle. “This is pretty good coffee.”

“I brewed yours with battery acid.”

“You get me.”

Companionable silence, and a distant explosion. 


	3. Trust

“Watch where you’re pointing that, would you?”

“Watch where I’m pointing what?” Anti poked Bim in the chest, the tip of his knife against Bim’s tie. 

Bim swatted him away, careful, scowling. “Anti, you’re going to hurt someone.”

“That’s the idea, isn’t it?”

“Edgy.”

“Prude.”

“Glitch bitch.”

“Demon spawn.”

“Quit it!” Bim, only half-annoyed, turned back to his mirror. “I go on in half an hour, and you’re not helping.”

“I’m always helping,” Anti muttered, leaning back. Bored as he was, he was supposed to help Wilford and Bim with today’s show, and was killing time in the green room before showtime. 

“Shh.” Bim straightened his tie for the hundredth time as Anti flopped onto a couch, humming.

“Hey, Trimmer, have you ever thought about becoming a clown?”

“Shut up.”

“What about an acrobat?”

“I’m trying to focus, Anti.”

“Well—” Anti started off on a tangent, something about circuses, and Bim did his best to tune him out. He really did have to focus, and Anti was excessively distracting. 

“What’s it going to take to get you to be quiet for twenty minutes?”

Upside down, Anti wiggled his eyebrows at Bim in the mirror. “A kiss?”

“I’m—” Bim stopped short. _Anti didn’t know_. 

“What’s that?” Anti sat up, leering, laughing. “’Pucker up, Anti’?”

Bim’s aura was confidence when he most needed it, and twenty minutes to showtime was as good a time as any. He let it out in waves, lavender, then violet, then plum.

“Go ahead,” Bim said, turning around. He caught his own eye in the mirror, irises the color of iris. “Pucker up, then, Anti.”

Anti, wholly unprepared, froze in place on the couch as the magic washed over him. His form broke into static, black and white and green, then coalesced into a very surprised-looking glitch. “B-Bim?”

“Yes?” Bim settled onto the couch, too close, too warm, with a hand on Anti’s knee. His voice was suddenly lower, eyes brighter. It was rain, washing away Anti’s senses, leaving him to corrode in the downpour. “What is it, dear?”

Anti jumped back as far as he could, only about an inch, considering that Bim had settled on his foot. He laughed, weak, and pushed at Bim. “Get off, you.”

“Who, me?” Anti’s arms fell slack, his hands cradled against Bim’s chest. Bim moved, shifting, his own hand on Anti’s shoulders, holding him close.

“I, er—” Anti didn’t know where to look, the sound of rain—or was that static? or was that his own pounding blood?—filling his ears. Bim’s eyes were too bright, too honest, and Anti felt like his heart was written on his face. He didn’t dare look down, Bim’s lips parted in a smile. He didn’t dare move. 

“What?” Bim laughed, closer, his chuckle filling the space between them, as if there was room for anything besides Anti’s screaming heart. “You _don’t_ want a kiss?”

Bim’s aura circled, a whirlpool, and it gave Bim cool, heavy grace. Anti was melting apart at the seams, putty in his hands. 

“Come, now, I only needed you to be quiet, darling.”

“I am,” Anti mumbled, fingers twitching. He couldn’t move them, couldn’t do anything but feel Bim’s heart beat under his palms. 

“What’s that?” Bim tilted Anti’s chin up, the wound on his neck stretching. 

“I am,” Anti said, squinting his eyes shut, sounding more like a child in trouble than himself, demonic glitch sprawled on the couch.

“No, love,” Bim purred, Anti practically folded into his lap. His aura surrounded the two of them, even Anti’s static smoothed away by the feeling of flower petals, falling and not landing, the hot touch of Bim’s hand against his face. “You asked for this,” and Bim’s breath on his cheek.

“TRIMMER.”

“Wilford.” Bim jumped up, smoothing his hair back, hurried, practiced. “Is it, uh, is it time already?”

“It’s been time.” Wilford scowled, seeing and recognizing the effects of Bim’s aura draining away. “Can’t have you seducing the technician, we have a _show_ to do.”

“Right. Well. See you out there, Anti?” Bim winked, and in a moment, he and Wilford swept from the room.

Anti, ten minutes later, still sat on the couch in total darkness. Lips parted, still leaning forward, he blinked. “WHAT THE FUCK.”

* * *

“What was that?”

“I’m an incubus.” Bm straightened his cuffs, still impeccable.

“A what?”

“A demon that seduces people, do keep up.” Wilford, splattered with blood, sat back in his chair.

Anti spluttered, looking between the two of them, still vaguely pink. “Wh-”

A slow clap from the shadows, Dark stepping into the light. “Good to know that even glitches have feelings. Wonderful performance, Trimmer.”

“Wait, no-” Bim looked up in time to catch Anti’s eyes, glaring, green, and beyond hurt. 

“Yeah,” Anti snapped, static enveloping him. “Wonderful performance.” And with a pop of lightning, he was gone.


End file.
